Alan's Funeral
by leaptad
Summary: This is an alternate universe where Alan was the one who died from cancer instead of Margaret. Set on the day of Alan's funeral


Author: Alison

Title: Alan's Funeral

Pairings: none

Summary: This is an alternate universe where Alan was the one who died from cancer instead of Margaret. Set on the day of Alan's funeral

Rating: K+

Spoilers: none

Disclaimer: I own none of this. Characters are the property of the Scott brothers.

Don felt like he had missed out on something important. The impact of what he had missed could not be measured at this time, and perhaps never could. It was something too fundamental, something that could have changed him profoundly, and could only be expressed through the lack of that change, which in and of itself was inexpressible. Following this line of reasoning could drive a man to madness.

He had missed out on being with his father during the final years of his life. There were people Don could choose to blame for his loss, and he frequently did blame them, but only when he could quiet the logical, rational portion of his brain. And for a man like Don, that could not be quieted for long.

He could blame his mother, who told him not to move home. Or his father, for getting sick to begin with. Or Charlie, for just doing what he did: avoidance. But he had no one true scapegoat. He was a grown man and could make his own decisions. He didn't need his mommy's permission. And if Charlie had avoided the nasty details of the situation, what had Don done? At least Charlie had been there physically. Don had not even done that.

Don stood in what had been his bedroom. It did not resemble the room of his youth. The walls were now bare, where they had once been papered with posters and his baseball heros and pictures of his friends and whoever his current girlfriend was. The dresser was bare where he used to keep his comb and after-shave. The bookshelves were gone that had always held his game balls and photograph albums full of baseball cards. The room had been emptied for the brief period when the live-in nurse had come to the house before Mom had put Dad in the nursing home.

Don walked over to the closet and opened it. A few empty hangers clinked against one another in surprise at his intrusion. On the floor he could see 10-year-old Charlie sitting cross-legged with one of Don's albums open in his lap. Charlie blinked at the sudden influx of light, his too-long curls falling into his eyes. Don reached down and snatched the album in one liquid motion while simultaneously hauling his brother to his feet. "Don't touch it! Do you understand me? Don't touch it!"

Don closed the empty closet. That had been a long time ago. This hadn't been his room in over a decade. He straightened his tie. He was wearing a dark brown suit. Maybe blue would have been more appropriate, but this was all he had brought in his suitcase. He couldn't hide up here forever, so he descended the stairs.

People milled around holding paper plates laden with food. "Donald!" said a heavy-set woman in bright red lipstick. It was one of his mom's friends from her her gardening club. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, then began wiping at the lipstick smear with her napkin. Don moved slightly to avoid any more physical contact with her.

"Oh, Donald," she said, shaking her head. He lipstick was seeping off her lips and into the wrinkles around her mouth. "I'm so sorry about your father. He was a good man. And so healthy. I didn't think he could get sick."

Don nodded compassionately, unsure of what to say or how to react.

"Have you eaten? Can I make you a plate?"

Don felt at that moment like he could live his entire life and never again consume food. "No thanks," he managed. Another woman standing nearby popped a forkful of potato salad into her mouth. Don felt physically ill at the sight of it.

"Here, sit," his mom's friend said, sitting him down on the couch. Mercifully, she set her food aside. Don wanted it as far away as possible. "So," she smiled and touched his knee, "married now, I hear."

Don nodded and held up his left hand as proof. "Almost a year now."

"And where is the little wife now?"

"Back in Albuquerque. She was in the middle of a big case."

"Are you planning on having children?"

This was a conversation Don had participated in several times in the past couple of days. "Not right now. We're both really focused on our careers. Kim is applying to the secret service."

The women made a tut-tut sound. "Such a dangerous career! She should do something safe. Like teach."

Don nodded politely. He had no intention of asking his wife to quit her job.

"It means so much to your mother that you came," she said.

"It's not like I was going to miss my own father's funeral," Don retorted.

"I mean all along. Visiting every month and all the calls. She talks about it all the time. You got her through."

Don shrugged. "I don't know, I wish I had been here more. Maybe I should have moved home." Saying aloud the biggest doubt that had been nagging him all along was strange. Why was it that he could say it to a total stranger but not his own wife?

The woman tut-tutted again. Don thought that must drive her husband batty. "It was so important to your mother that both you and Charlie keep going with your lives just as before."

"I know," Don said. "It just seems like...our father died of cancer. Shouldn't our lives have been a little interrupted? Shouldn't things have been a little harder on us? Maybe if I had been here more, mom wouldn't have had to move dad into that nursing home."

"She moved him there because of your brother, not you. Charlie, he's such a sweet boy, but he couldn't handle this. Your mother saw how much this was upsetting him. Your brother, he started spending all his time in the garage working on some math problem. Your mother had to do something. Once your father was in the nursing home, Charlie started teaching his classes again. He just couldn't handle it. It had nothing to do with you."

Don pondered what she had just said for a moment. There it was. It had nothing to do with him. Or their father. All it ever had to do with was Charlie. "I feel like I don't even know my own brother," Don said.

"Well, you have nothing in common," the woman said. "You have your life in...where are you now?"

"Albuquerque," Don said.

"You have your life there. Charlie has his life here. You shouldn't feel bad about that. You're just in mourning. You can't think clearly. When my brother died, I blamed myself for everything. But now I see that there was nothing I could have done."

Don didn't know. He had hardly spoken to his brother since arriving back home. Maybe she was right. Maybe time did heal all wounds. Suddenly he missed his wife.

"Are you sure you don't want some food?" the woman asked.

"Um, sure. That would be great."

Don sat on the couch and waited for her to return. He couldn't help but think that maybe, somehow, things could be different.


End file.
